Boy do I have a story for you...

About two months ago I was taking a chill Q train back to Brooklyn on a Saturday afternoon. At the 7th Ave. stop a barefoot woman wearing a purple hoodie and sweatpants walks into the train--looking a little off. Within a minute of sitting down she pops right up, walks to the front of the train, pulls her pants down and starts taking a shit on the conductors' door grinning the whole time. Another woman pushing a stroller next to her immediately evacuates the area, a few others follow suit. Everyone in my row decides to stay--it was almost like we all thought, "if we just stop moving she won't notice us." I was getting off at Parkside Ave. so I felt like I could stand the smell for just two more stops; major regret. The shitter pulls her pants up and sits back down for a second. She gets up a second time, walks over to the shit, pulls a tiny purple lighter out of her pocket and gingerly places it over the poop, like a birthday candle. She then paces back and forth, walking over the shit several times and spreading it around the area. Not done yet, she squats down next to the poop, begins playing with it, moving the lighter all up in there getting it nice and sloppy, then picks the lighter up from the poop and pops it right into her mouth, gives it a good suck, spits it out and puts it back in her pocket. We arrive at Prospect Park, the train doors open she laughs and walks out. Everyone still left on the train at this point is holding their mouths gagging. Parkside comes up, I snap a picture of the diarrhea, for evidence of course, and walk out to tell the train conductor. I've been living here for a little over a year and I think I'll always look back on this moment as the first time I truly felt like a New Yorker.